Five Ways To Capsicoul, One Way It Actually Happened
by CeliaEquus
Summary: A 5 1 in honour of AskCapsicoul, the inspiration for the last chapter. Five ways Steve and Phil could have gotten together, plus the one way they actually did, according to AskCapsicoul. One chapter per situation. Disclaimer: I don't own the Avengers, or any other Marvel thingummies, nor am I making money from this. Rated for chapter four. You'll see...
1. Online Get-Together

"Online Get-Together"

"This is unnecessarily complicated," Steve moaned, and he rubbed a hand down his face. Phil chuckled. "It's not funny."

"You picked this up quickly enough. You were handling that StarkPad easily the day we met."

Steve shut the laptop carefully, and hugged it to his chest. "I had supervision. Anytime there's no one watching me, it seems like everything goes wrong. Then I have to call Stark, and he laughs his… tail off. Then he mocks me until he gets bored, or until I tell him just how bad the problem is, and he fixes it from wherever he is. Or he leads me through it so quickly I haven't got time to write it down."

"I'm surprised you don't just soak up the information."

He wrinkled his nose. "I can do that with things I understand, yeah. But… a mouse pad sounds like a notebook for rodents. And a notebook sounds like a lot of pieces of paper bound together. Facebook sounds like… You get the picture." Phil nodded. "It's confusing. It reminds me of the fact that I used to miss a lot of school whenever I was sick."

"Why?"

"It… makes me feel stupid."

"Oh no, Steve." Phil touched his arm. "You're not stupid. This is confusing. I know if I was in your position, I'd be at even more of a loss. Probably because I'd be more set in my ways, being so much older—"

"Not _that_ much older. I was born half a century before you."

"And you're physically younger by nearly twenty years," Phil said. He patted Steve's arm, and then retracted his hand. "Never mind. You're welcome to call me instead. If the problem's beyond me, I can redirect you to the tech department at SHIELD."

Steve beamed. "Thanks, Phil. Well, I'd better go. Visiting hours are nearly over. Can I come back tomorrow?"

"Of course. I'm not going anywhere."

"Yet," Steve said. "We'll get you out of here, don't worry. In the meantime…" He shrugged, still smiling.

"I can keep myself entertained," Phil assured him.

* * *

There was a reason Steve was so determined to make sure he understood the World Wide Web. He needed to know how to find the safest dating website, screen it, and work out the perfect username. He wasn't going to risk anyone 'talking' to him just because he was Steve Rogers. They might, however, 'talk' to Charlie Mills.

He'd given his pseudonym a lot of thought. He wasn't going to make the mistake of having something too close to his real name, or to anyone he knew or had known. That alone stopped him from picking Phillip, tempting thought it was.

Then he remembered when he read _Great Expectations_, one of his favourite books. To be more accurate, his mother had read it to him during one of his many illnesses. Pip was the main character. So that took care of Charles, or Charlie, as his first name. And Tony downloaded a lot of black and white films for Steve, including the 1946 film adaptation, with John Mills as Pip. Steve saw him in the movie _In Which We Serve_ and thought he was swell, so it was good to find out he'd gone so far.

So. CharlieMills18 it was. He played with his details before deciding to be honest, at least about some things; if he found the right person, he didn't want to start off their relationship on a lie. This was the best way to find someone who wouldn't want him based on his looks or his costume. He hadn't been able to find any agencies which worked through letters; that just left the internet.

He mulled over his preferences. Well, he didn't know who his true love was yet; just in case, he said male or female. Age? Any, if he was honest. But he guessed there had to be limits, at least as a starting point. So he said twenty-five to forty-five. Non-smoker; cigarettes smelled horrible, and again, there were limits. Also, with Steve being in the peak of health, he didn't want to outlive yet another person, at least not by only a few years. Not if he could help it.

'I'm looking for someone who'll look past outward appearances and see me.' Steve paused, not knowing what else to put; but he soldiered on. 'I don't like bullies, and I stick up for people I care about, even though I'd rather use words than fists to solve a problem.' He winced. Would this even appeal to anyone? But he wasn't going to lie if he could help it. No. Definitely not. 'I don't want to miss a chance at something strong with the right person. I love unconditionally.'

And he stated that he wasn't looking for a casual relationship.

"Good luck," he muttered to himself, clicking the submit button. He confirmed his details through a link sent to his email account, and set about tidying his apartment to kill time while he waited to see if he'd have a response.

* * *

Phil tabbed between spider solitaire, his hospital play-list, and his emails. He signed in to his secret shame, a dating website he'd been haunting for months without success. No one ever seemed right; he'd been on enough sites to know what to look for. And he had laughably high standards, considering his age, situation, and appearance. The highest compliment on his features that he'd ever heard was that he was 'plain'. That was when he was at college, for heaven's sake.

He really should've lowered his standards; but in his line of work he wasn't going to waste time on an unsatisfactory relationship.

At his age, he should also raise the minimum age of his preferred partner. About to do just this, he noticed a new profile pop up, and paused. Something told him to check out this CharlieMills18. The number couldn't have been his age or the year of his birth; maybe the date? It didn't matter. What mattered was that this person was open to pretty much anyone.

That was usually a sign that they were either desperate or not picky, neither of them on Phil's list of favoured traits. But the description caught his eye.

'…look past outward appearances and see me.' Low self-esteem. Maybe not particularly striking? That's okay; Phil wasn't choosy when it came to appearances. No one could compare to hunks like Steve Rogers, after all, and Phil wasn't even interested in his childhood hero. 'I don't like bullies… rather use words than firsts to solve a problem.' CharlieMills18 seemed honourable, and preferred brains over brawn. Modesty aside, it looked like Phil might actually have a chance. 'I love unconditionally.'

Phil's breath caught in his throat. Those three words struck him like Thor's hammer. He wanted something like that. It was stupid, and unrealistic, and CharlieMills18 would probably get hundreds of requests based on that phrase alone. But Phil couldn't not send one of his own. He would never forgive himself if he didn't.

* * *

Steve's eyes nearly popped out of his head when he saw the list of responses to his profile an hour later. He really should've narrowed his preferences; this was ridiculous. How would he have time to get through them all?

"You started it, Rogers," he told himself, plonking down into his computer chair, still staring at the screen. "Don't be so yellow. What would Bucky say?"

He followed link after link, viewing some frankly vulgar profiles, many of them riddled with bad grammar and punctuation. Some were so badly written he couldn't even understand what they were saying, and this coming from someone who sat through a three hour presentation, given by Tony Stark, on 'text speak' and 'net speak'.

After an hour, he had narrowed down a list of one hundred and twenty-four to six requests. He studied each one, before sighing, and putting them aside. Maybe he just wasn't cut out for this.

Then a new message materialised in his inbox. He paused, deciding to read this last one. Honestly, he should probably just pack the whole thing in and leave the—

'Hey.'

Steve stared at the message added to the request. It was possible, but no one had bothered yet. They'd probably seen the new profile and sent him a message without personalising it. Sure, this was just one word. But it was more than anyone else had given him. He visited the profile.

No picture, but then it seemed that most pictures were very poor, or the person in them was showing too much skin. Sometimes there was even more than one person. Steve certainly hadn't posted a picture. He read down the page. Age: forty-three. Occupation: government. Preference: female or male. Status: looking for long-term relationship. Then he got to the description.

'I've been to many countries and have yet to find someone who would be willing to share their life with me. I protect those I care about, whether they need it or not. I'm hoping to find someone who doesn't believe that looks are everything, who doesn't mind being protected, and who is understanding in general.' This guy sounded lonely, even though he implied that he had people to look after. Or maybe it was hypothetical. 'I would devote everything I am and have to my partner's happiness.'

Steve didn't need protecting. But he did like the idea of someone who wanted to make their loved one feel secure. This JohnHemming45 (not the year of his birth, and not yet his age; what could the number mean?) also seemed kind of desperate. Yet look at Steve's profile. He wasn't exactly Mr. Fussy-Of-The-Year. JohnHemming45 had been with the site since early last year. He was single, not classified as divorced or separated or widower. He could've been with other websites before. Or maybe, like Steve, he had just decided that he wanted someone to call his own.

Steve wouldn't mind that. And JohnHemming45 had contacted him, so it wasn't like he wasn't interested. He'd even said hi.

Desperately trying to find the reply button, he accidentally hit 'ignore'.

* * *

After taking his tablets, Phil logged back onto the site. He sighed when he saw that CharlieMills18 had 'ignored' him.

Then he frowned when he got a message from him a second later.

'I'm sorry! I've never used a site like this before, and my mouse went wild. How do I un-ignore?'

Phil laughed, relieved. He led CharlieMills18 through the procedure, until the nasty little red flag disappeared, and the green acceptance flag popped up.

'Thanks. Can we start again? I guess I should say that Charlie isn't my real name. I'm sort of wary of the internet, even in this day and age.'

'That's okay. John isn't my real name. It's my middle name, though.'

"That's close enough.'

Charlie had added a smiley face icon to his message. Phil felt almost a hundred years old; when he received the next message, that feeling dissipated.

'You're the first person who's actually welcomed me to the website. You know, except for the nice people who set it up. I think everyone gets the same message, though.'

'That's mail merge for you,' Phil replied, typing away. 'They'll be able to use their minds one day to create something they think is personalised.'

'Really?'

'I hope not.'

'Oh. That's good.'

Phil cocked his head. Was this guy even for real?

'A security consultant must be an interesting job,' he wrote. 'Do you get much work?'

'Yeah. It's just the one place that hires me. Actually, two. I do work for Stark Industries sometimes. I can't tell you about it, though.'

Phil groaned. Stark haunted him wherever he went. Well, it couldn't be someone from SHIELD. Natasha was an exception to the rule, and she was in legal, not in the security detail. Charlie was also too young to be Happy Hogan. Plus he was apparently part-time.

'Which part of the government are you in?' Charlie asked. Phil realised that he hadn't planned for this; he'd had about fifty requests in total. Okay, closer to seventy; but most of them were discarded quickly.

'Law enforcement. That's why I wondered about your work. They're loosely connected.'

* * *

Steve laughed. He knew it wouldn't be anyone from SHIELD; he was sure Director Fury had distributed some kind of memo to the effect that employees of SHIELD were restricted from online relationships of a non-work nature. Maybe this person was FBI? Or even CIA? No. He was probably a cop. But that didn't matter; it was steady work. They could've even met sometime, and Steve just didn't know.

'Do you usually talk about work with people on this site?' he typed.

'No,' came the reply several seconds later.

'I wasn't sure what it would be like on here. I was just about to give up when I opened your message.'

'You've only been on for an hour.'

'I was already despairing of the human race.'

John's next message was a laughing smiley face. He followed it up with text.

'You'll get used to it.'

Steve chewed his lower lip as he thought about his reply. He decided to go out on a limb.

'I don't think I'll need to. I like talking to you.'

He pressed the enter key before he could second-guess himself. He hoped John wouldn't think it was too forward of him, or too sudden, or—

'I like talking to you, too. We can keep doing that, if you want.'

Steve didn't even realise how late it was getting, and how many lines of text they had written, until it was nearly ten. John said that he had to get some sleep, but would be happy to exchange email addresses so they could chat if they weren't online at the same time. Steve gave his email without a second thought, and went to bed with a smile on his face. With any luck, this time he wouldn't miss his chance.

* * *

A month of sporadic, yet informative, emails later, Phil ventured to suggest that they meet. He was out of hospital by now, and he didn't want to run out of things to say before he met his new friend. His new maybe something more?

Hemming was Phil's mother's maiden name; and, as he'd told Charlie, John was his middle name. He took the forty-five in his username from the year Captain America's plane went down. In his defence, he was collecting the cards around the time he started his account, and it was long before they found the captain's plane; consequently, even longer before he met Steve Rogers. Now, however, his temporary crush on the poor captain had faded into nothingness, to be replaced by something stronger for this man whose name he didn't even know.

As arranged, he waited in a booth at a fifties-style diner. Fortunately it wasn't a milk-bar kind of place. If it was pastels, red plastic seats and a jukebox he would have felt ridiculous. But with the old movie posters, and pictures of stars from the Golden Age of cinema, it felt more friendly, and less uncomfortably girly.

He hated sitting with his back to the door. However, that was what Charlie had suggested; and Phil could be just as formidable with his back turned as he could facing his attacker. His copy of _Great Expectations_, with a metal-and-tasselled bookmark sticking out the top, was placed in such a way that his date would see it as soon as he came in the door. All Phil had to do was keep an eye out for someone wearing a brown leather jacket with sunglasses in the breast pocket.

His heart jumped when he heard the sound of the door opening again. This was different, though. He could tell.

He glanced back, view obscured by the plant behind his head. Someone tall, male, wearing a brown leather jacket. A hand placed sunglasses in the pocket. Phil still couldn't see the man's face; he would soon enough.

Fighting the urge to cough pointedly, he nudged the book closer to the edge of the table. He sensed/heard Charlie turn, and move towards him.

"John?"

Phil was so relieved to hear that name that he didn't even register the familiar voice as he looked up.

"Charlie…?" His voice died off when he realised just who 'Charlie' was.

"Phil?" Steve Rogers said, eyebrows furrowing. He glanced at the book. "You're… you're JohnHemming45?"

"Hemming was my mom's last name," Phil said softly. "And nineteen-forty-five was the year you…" Steve nodded slowly.

"I see," he said, and he slid into the booth, resting his hands on the glass surface of the table. He glanced up at Phil, then down again.

"Charlie Mills? I get where the eighteen comes from; your year of birth, am I right?" Steve nodded. "The rest of it?"

There was a pause. Then, "It doesn't matter."

"No, I guess not," Phil said. He really didn't know what to do. Usually people who met online didn't know each other in real life; this sort of thing was only supposed to happen in romantic comedies between two antagonists, not between two almost-friends who sort of worked together sometimes.

Part-time security consultant indeed. That was as bad as Phil's law enforcement.

"Did you know?"

"Did I know what?" Phil asked. Steve looked frustrated.

"Did you know who I was, who Charlie Mills was?"

"What? No, of course not. If I'd known—"

"What? What would you've done?"

Phil didn't know what to say to that.

"I guess… I would have told you. Then we could've moved onto people we didn't actually know, and continued on as we were in the real world."

"Are you sure?" Steve asked. His look deepened into a scowl. "How am I supposed to know this isn't some set-up, a way to keep an eye on me? A way to tie me to SHIELD?"

"What are you talking about?" Phil said, even though he knew full well what Steve was talking about. And it stung. "If that was the case – which it isn't, thank you very much – then it's not exactly the most effective way, is it?"

"It might have been!"

"Why?"

Steve crossed his arms and looked away. Phil had never seen him so angry. He couldn't help feeling angry himself, not to mention sick. The one person he enjoyed talking to online, and it turned out to be… It just wasn't fair.

"Even if you weren't working for SHIELD, you could've still known it was me," Steve said. Phil was rapidly reaching the point where he wanted to throw something. Preferably a chair. Or one of the tables currently bolted to the floor. "It could've been your way of getting closer to me."

"We were already becoming friends," Phil said,

"Romantically," Steve said, half-leaning across the table. "Everyone knows how you've always felt about me."

"How dare you," Phil hissed. "You know nothing about it. I had the highest admiration for you. Yeah, a crush for a little while, and just a couple of times. But I got over it when I started to fall for—"

He bit his tongue, even as Steve prompted him.

"For Charlie, who just happens to be me?" he said. It was almost taunting. "I may not be as smart as you, but—"

"Oh, for God's sake, how many times do I have to tell you you're not dumb?" Phil said. "You're as bad as Clint, I swear. Neither of you realise the amount of potential you have, if you'd only just believe in yourselves."

There was silence between them for a couple of minutes. Phil forced himself to simmer down, not exacerbate the situation further. He could feel how hot his cheeks were.

"Why did you feel the need to join a dating website?" he asked quietly. He saw Steve look up in the reflection of the window. "Anyone would be lucky to be with you."

"I wanted someone to see the real me," Steve said. "Someone who didn't care about Captain America."

"Captain America is a part of you; it's inside of you," Phil said. "If someone didn't care about him, then they wouldn't be caring about you."

"And you know all about him."

"And I know all about Charlie. What he's told me so far."

Steve's eyes drifted to meet Phil's in the reflection. They held his gaze for a good half a minute.

"Why did you join up?" he asked.

"I was tired of being alone," Phil said. "I was nearing the age of complete retirement from field-work, which would mean slightly more reasonable hours, and less danger. Now that I'm working with you— the Avengers, that danger has returned. I should probably leave the site. It's not worth it. Look at what happened when I wasn't even supposed to be fighting." He gestured towards the place on his chest where he knew there was an inches-long scar. Steve nodded, still unsmiling.

"Yeah," he said. He was quiet for another minute; then he stood up. He touched the cover of _Great Expectations_, and Phil could swear that he grimaced.

"Do you want a drink?" he asked.

"No. Good-bye, John."

Phil stopped breathing as Steve moved past, and out the door of the diner. It was only when the clank of the closing door reached his ears that he inhaled unsteadily.

Damn. He'd screwed this up.

* * *

Steve walked around Central Park a few times before taking public transport back to his apartment in Brooklyn. He logged in to his email account without thinking, an automatic reaction from these weeks of corresponding with John— with Phil. Only slightly hurt to see that there were no emails, he ventured onto the site to visit JohnHemming45's profile—

It no longer existed. JohnHemming45 had deleted his account. In the last few hours, Phil had deleted his account, just like that. He hadn't even bothered to try to find someone else. Unless he was trying his luck on a different website? In which case Steve would stick with this one. Let Phil find someone else who would know when Phil stopped believing in dragons (age eleven), what his three favourite colours were (white, green, and lavender; not blue anymore), his favourite pasta dish, the first time he rode a bike, his most embarrassing army stories…

Steve didn't want that. He didn't want to be replaced. Who else would understand Phil's line of work? Who else already knew how he took his coffee, and what his favourite donut was, and how much he both hated and liked Tony Stark? And those were things Steve already knew about Phil; John never told him that. They'd agreed to keep some mystery until they could meet and talk, and maybe start something more. Nothing like that had ever been stated; it had all been implied, through flirtatious comments, through their own philosophies on relationships, through their reasons for joining the site.

Steve didn't want someone new coming in and ruining their tentative friendship, and he didn't want to start from scratch. He wanted someone he already liked and trusted.

He wanted someone who would 'devote everything I am and have to my partner's happiness'.

* * *

Phil had deleted his account, erasing any traces of himself from the website using every trick he knew. He permanently deleted every email he had received from 'Charlie', not even mourning their loss. It was over. There was no way he was trying this again. He'd given too much of himself to a relationship which was doomed before it even began, to a man who could never want him back, not now, not then, not ever.

He was over Captain America, and over Steve. And now he was going to get over Charlie. He had confessed to Nick, who laughed when Phil told him that he'd finally joined a dating website – as the director had suggested – but that laughter died when Phil relayed the content of the conversation. He said it as unemotionally as he could, using standard report language. Nick had commiserated, and offered Phil a week off work. He declined.

Now he was debating over staying in, or taking the risk of going to his office instead. It was getting too late for work; but he'd had a lot of good conversations with Charlie both in the hospital and here, and damned if he didn't need to get away from it all. The only problem would be if he met Steve; but that was unlikely.

After an early dinner, he tried to watch some mind-numbing reality TV. Instead, his gaze kept wandering to _Great Expectations_. 'Charles' now made sense. And if he remembered correctly, John Mills and Alec Guinness were in a film version in the forties; maybe Steve saw it before or after he joined the army? He'd have to look it up. He knew that it was one of Charlie— Steve's favourite books. Phil had never read it; now probably wasn't a good time to start.

But then Phil Coulson occasionally broke the rules.

He didn't even get halfway through the first line.

'Phillip Pirrip.' The name of the main character.

"What the hell, Steve?" he murmured. He nearly jumped out of his skin when there was a knock at his front door. He tossed the book aside, metal bookmark slipping out and landing beside it, and walked to the door. He could no longer stride the way he used to, thanks to Loki. With that thought, he half-expected the god to be on the other side of the door.

It was worse.

"Hey," Steve said, hands deep in his pockets, head bowed a little.

"Hi," Phil said, for wont of anything better to say.

"Can I come in?"

"I don't think that's a…" Steve's face started to crumple; Phil caved. "Sure. Come on in. What do you need?"

Steve stepped past him, and Phil shut the door. "I said good-bye to John. But I didn't say good-bye to Phil."

There was nothing he could really say to that. He couldn't even face Steve. "Uh?"

"I know it's too much to ask, but if I don't do it now, it'll just be worse later on. I was hoping we could start over again?"

Phil really wanted to shake his head. He'd had the worst afternoon of his life due to Steve's reaction. Yes, the very nature of SHIELD had worked against him; it shared the responsibility. However, Phil had been innocent in all of this; his past feelings had been used against him, and Steve had made horrible accusations.

Thing was… where they unforgivable? Not really.

"I don't know," he said honestly. "It's not entirely your fault. You've awoken in a cynical world, and you've seen some terrible things. It's not unreasonable that you should be wary. But…" He couldn't stop the look of hurt, even if he'd wanted to. "Wary of me? Mistrustful of me? I've tried to help you, help all of you. And Director Fury, despite what you may think of him, has been trying to make amends for his lies. Do you really think he would add to them when it's unnecessary?"

"No," Steve said, voice low.

"Agents technically aren't even allowed to sign up for sites like that. But I was given special dispensation because he was sick of seeing me single, to, uh, paraphrase the words he used." He smiled ruefully. "It's hard for me to meet people. I never know when I'm going to be called up for work. I just wanted someone who wouldn't care about that. Someone who wouldn't care that I haven't got movie star looks. Someone… who'd love me. Unconditionally."

He had to stop before he lost it. Instead, he turned away, and began to walk to the kitchen. He went to offer a drink, try to establish some normalcy. Steve spoke first.

"Me."

"What?" Phil said, turning around. He didn't understand.

"Can I be that person?"

Phil shook his head. "I don't… I don't get it." Steve stepped forward.

"I know I've messed things up with my thoughtless actions," he said. "I really wish I could take it all back. It's too late to go back to the diner and try again. Can't we just… leave Charlie and John aside, and be Steve and Phil instead? If you don't want me, just say so. You were… expecting someone who definitely wasn't me, so I can understand if you were disappointed. Especially now. B-but I'd really like to be the person you want. I don't want anyone else to—"

"No one else will," Phil said, remembering how his tongue was supposed to work. "I've left that site."

"Yeah, I noticed," Steve said, hands buried in his pockets once again. Had he even moved them?

"If this happened again…"

"It won't," Steve said. "I swear. If you just let me start over or something… Please, Phil. I don't want someone else taking Charlie's place, unless that someone is me. And… and I don't want someone who isn't John, unless it's you. I know… I know my feelings don't come into this—"

"Of course they do," Phil said.

"No," Steve said, shaking his head emphatically. "It's you I'm worried about. It's you I _want_, Phil."

He couldn't speak; he literally couldn't get his tongue moving, not even as Steve began to retreat into himself. It was almost like watching a reverse of the serum. It was as he was saying 'no' in his mind that he felt just what would happen to his heart if he went the whole way and said it out loud.

"Yes," he said. Because it would kill him to say otherwise.

Steve's head jerked up. There was a sudden surge of hope in his expression that the sheer power of it nearly knocked Phil off his feet.

"Yes?" he said. "Yes… you forgive me?" Phil nodded. "Yes, you'll give this another go?" He nodded again. "Yes… yes, you want… me?"

"So much," Phil whispered. "I knew I wanted whoever I was going to meet in that diner today. I was just lucky that it turned out to be someone I already knew. Or not so lucky, as it turned out." He laughed sadly. Steve pulled him close.

"Can I kiss you?" he pleaded.

"I don't know. Can you?"

"Phil," Steve said, pouting at Phil's playful tone. "You know what I—"

The thing about kissing is that you can't really talk while you're doing it.

But when you can say what you feel with actions, words don't matter anymore.

* * *

**And so ends chapter one. I meant to have this done for Valentine's Day. Ha. By the time I decided that, it was February twelfth, give or take a day. I've been writing this for a few hours now, finishing at about twenty-five to one in the morning. Can you even say 'in the morning' when it's pitch black outside?**

**Tomorrow… or should I say later today?… I'll see how much of this has made sense to my tired mind. Guh… Shall go and sleep now.**

**On the plus side, I've had a long day and I'm knackered. Should be easy to fall asleep.**

**EDIT: It was relatively easy to fall asleep. If I recall correctly, which I probably don't. Sigh. Posting now.**


	2. Steve the Fanboy

"Steve the Fanboy"

Steve Rogers was used to having people talk about him. He was used to people fawning over him, even though that was usually for his looks, at least when he was on tour, selling war bonds. The girls seemed to like him, the crowds seemed to love him. They liked and loved Captain America.

It was when he joined the Howling Commandoes that he found people who liked him for who he was. He admired his men right back, and told them so when he could, or showed it if they were embarrassed by his praise. Now he understood that some of them might have been queer, or even thought that he was queer, and couldn't say anything. Or maybe they thought that tough soldiers shouldn't be flattered by a 'good job' or 'nice work there'.

The point is, Steve had always admired other people. He admired the soldiers under his command, Dr. Erskine, Peggy, even Howard to some extent. He wondered whether there was anyone worth admiring in this fast-paced, crude world of the twenty-first century.

"Did you hear him telling off Agent Romanov for her tactics to get close to Tony Stark?"

"Well, he _is_ friends with Virginia Potts."

"Yeah, but he gave the Black Widow a dressing down, and got away from it unscathed! Johnson said she even looked repentant."

"Really?"

"He might've said chastised. I was still trying to get over the shock."

Steve moved to a boxing bag closer to the door.

"What'd you expect? He's Phil Coulson. He's the only one who can control either her or Barton. Not even the director can get them to fall into line."

"Hey, don't let any of them hear you say that, if you don't want to wake up with an arrow in your ass. And that'd be the least of your worries."

Steve frowned at the bad language. But he was curious now. Director Fury of SHIELD seemed pretty intimidating. If there were people not cowed by him, then the only person who could rein them would have to be exceptional. He made a mental note to look up Phil Coulson, along with all the other things he had to learn about.

"Did you see that video? I think Barton found it, and leaked it onto Youtube. Fury gave him hell for it."

"Did Coulson?"

"What do _you _think?"

"Both Romanov and Barton? And he hasn't needed to go to medical? They must be getting soft."

There was a crash of metal. Steve was at the door in half a second, wrenching it open. He looked down the hall, and saw a man crouched in the middle of the floor, a vent covering beneath his feet. He raised his head slowly, and grinned at the various agents waiting outside the gym.

"My ears were burning," he said. "What was that I heard about someone going soft?"

Well, it was the agents' own fault if they were going to get into trouble. As far as Steve was concerned, they were in the wrong. He shrugged, and closed the door, noticing the stranger glance at him before he was out of sight.

* * *

It was like a car accident. Phil kept watching the video of the attempted robbery in the gas station. Thankfully Clint had had the presence of mind to blur his face, and the camera was behind the young woman; but SHIELD technology could get past that, and the video had gone viral around the Helicarrier and all land bases. He was now receiving fan mail, not to mention reading all the comments on Youtube. They made his cheeks blush, especially when several people – both male and female – said something about wanting to have his children. He shook his head, sighing, and started up the video again. He must have watched it twenty times by now.

Never mind Clint and Natasha both being on the receiving end of his temper lately; everything was happening at once, and the only times he'd been able to relax were the few times he had spent watching over Captain America while he was thawing out. They understood that, and thankfully cut him some slack.

And he'd been justified. Just when Stark and Pepper were starting to embark on a tentative relationship, Natasha nearly ruined things trying to seduce Stark. If he didn't know any better, he'd think that she was under the impression that her best weapons were her powers of seduction.

Then there was Clint's stunt with the video. He claimed that he had no idea it would be so popular. When Phil merely raised a sceptical eyebrow, the archer had caved and said that he thought it was unfair that people thought Phil was just a pencil pusher.

"The point, specialist," Phil had said, "is that people continue to remain under that impression. If anyone unscrambled the blurring on my face…"

He left it hanging, allowing Clint to think of every possible way it could go wrong. When all the blood had drained from his face, Phil took pity, and dismissed his two most difficult agents, while he tried to figure out how to resolve this. People were already posting remixes of the video. If he was an ordinary citizen, it wouldn't be such a problem. But a top agent for an undercover branch of the government? Not so good. He should've deleted the security footage; but the police needed it, so there was nothing he could do. At this rate, he would have to ask Tony Stark to eradicate any traces of it from the internet, and he was not looking forward to that conversation.

Phil's cell phone rang, and he closed Youtube.

"Coulson," he said.

"We need you to pick up Captain America," Fury said. "It's time."

Phil's inner fanboy began to jump around like a five-year-old.

* * *

Steve had watched the video of the gas station incident at least twenty times, more impressed every time he saw it. He could have recreated the scenario, he knew it so well by now. He recited along with the dialogue somehow enhanced, silently thanking Agent Barton for putting this online where Steve could view it.

His admiration for Agent Coulson had amplified by at least a hundred, probably more. Most people would have just shot the robbers dead, not only traumatising the young lady (who, in Steve's opinion, shouldn't have had to work by herself that late at night), but ending the lives of two people who should be rotting in a jail cell.

Not only did Agent Coulson stop the robbery, he gave the young woman the credit, though that was all over now. It was probably just as well. She'd commented on the video, and said that someone else was now doing the night shift with her, and she was taking self-defence classes.

So he stopped a robbery without taking any lives, didn't take the credit for himself, and it was funny how he used a bag of flour to bring down one of the men.

He also let the woman keep the change, all with a smile on his dial. It was incredible.

Pausing the video, he answered his phone.

"Rogers," he said.

"This is Nick Fury, captain. We need you to come in. I'm sending an agent to collect you, and give you more information."

"Is this about the Avengers Initiative?"

"That's right. Agent Coulson will be there in ten. Meet him outside."

"Sir," Steve said, hanging up the phone in a daze. Agent Coulson. Phil Coulson was coming here, to pick him up. Agent _Coulson_! Steve was going to meet him. SHIELD was sending its best agent, and Steve was going to meet him.

This was going to be a good day. He could tell.

* * *

When they were on the `jet, heading towards the Helicarrier, Steve tried to ignore Agent Coulson's presence as he watched the footage of the Hulk, knowing it was important to take this all in. But it was hard when Coulson – no, he'd been asked to call him Phil! – was just there, explaining everything. Finally, Steve had to put the small computer thing aside and confess.

"I've heard a lot about you, sir," he said, and he began to fiddle with the notebook he had in his trouser pocket. "I've gotta say, it'll be a great honour working with you. I am going to be working with you, aren't I? That's what you said?"

"That's right," Phil said, giving him an odd look. "You're heard about me?"

"Yeah," Steve said, nodding. "I was wondering…" He laughed nervously, and pulled the notepad out. "I was wondering whether you could sign… I mean, I haven't got a picture of you or anything, but… could you give me your autograph?" Then he blushed bright red, still holding out the notebook, but not daring to look any higher than the bottom of Phil's tie.

"You… you want me to give you an autograph?"

"I-if you don't mind. It's just that I've never met anyone like you before. The other people I've admired… well, it's hard to get things like this in war-time, and they weren't exactly famous. But you are." He met Phil's eyes, earnest. "Everyone talks about you, even people who don't know you. And this is the sort of thing fans do, isn't it? Get autographs from the people they like?"

Phil wavered; then he smiled. Then he laughed softly.

"Sure," he said, shaking his head, obviously baffled. Steve didn't know why. He handed over the notebook, and Phil used one of the pens tucked into his pocket to write on one of the pages. He gave it back, and then pulled something out of his own trouser pocket. It was a small metal box, and he opened it, before colouring slightly himself. "This is funny."

"I didn't make things awkward, did I? I'm sorry if I did."

"No, you didn't make anything awkward. It's just…" Phil ran his fingers through his hair. "I was going to ask you to sign these for me." And he handed Steve the box.

They were Captain America cards. He had no idea anything like this had been made.

"What are they?" he asked.

"Trading cards. I've been collecting them for a long time. Mint condition. Slight foxing around the edges, but still good. I was hoping you'd autograph them for me. That's why I, uh, brought the pens." He shrugged, his cheeks getting pinker. "Didn't know this was going to happen, though."

Steve smiled brightly, and took the pen. He handled each card delicately, making sure the ink was dry before he put each one in the box. When the last was done, and replaced carefully, he handed both tin and pen back to Phil. Their fingers just brushed against each other, and he suppressed a shiver.

Yeah. This was going to be a great day. The way he felt, absolutely nothing could go wrong.

* * *

**And it won't, because in this alternate… situation, I guess you could say, That Thing Never Happened. Okay, this is pre-slash, but it's still potential Capsicoul, and there's nothing wrong with that, right? Right.**

**This took me a heck of a lot less time to write than the previous chapter. About an hour, probably, and I browsed our city council's library catalogue during that time. I'm not that good at cooking, so I've been looking for easy recipes for baking, as well as vegetarian food. Sigh. Oh, the woes associated with being a non-meat-eater.**

**Crikes! My mother's birthday is on Friday, and I need to get a box to put the DVD in… the DVD which I ordered online and hasn't arrived yet. Bollocks! I needs must remedy this. At least I've got two cards which I bought a couple of years ago, and forgot about until two months ago.**

**Smeg. Need to get a back-up present. Grr! It's Christmas all over again.**

**EDIT: I got a back-up present and some wrapping paper. Wish me luck; I suck at gift wrapping.**


	3. Fever

"Fever"

"I thought he couldn't get sick," Phil said through gritted teeth, striding down the hallway to the room where Captain Rogers was slowly being brought back to a normal temperature. The ice on the outside had long since melted off under SHIELD's excellent care.

Now the doctors were saying that Captain freaking America, the original super soldier, had contracted a fever.

"It must have something to do with being frozen in the Arctic all these years," Dr. Greenwood said dryly. Phil glared at him. "We had no idea this would happen, or we would have taken more preventative measures."

"Preventative measures? Against what? Has anyone been near him, who might have passed on a virus? Has non-sterilised equipment been used on him? _What happened_?"

"We have been as careful as we are with ordinary human beings," Greenwood said, pushing open the door. Phil stalked past him, over to the table, and got his first look at his idol, Captain America.

The captain was animated, all right; he jerked with a shiver every few seconds, he was dripping with perspiration, and there was a flush over nearly every inch of skin that Phil could see. His forehead was creased as he occasionally whimpered, lips parted, clearly in pain.

"Is there any way the serum could be reversing?"

"It should be impossible," Greenwood said. "There has been no change to his anatomy other than the fever. It seems like a regular fever—"

"With his rapidly-altered physiology, it's probably worse," Phil said. "Have you given him pain meds? Antibiotics?"

"Where is your degree in medicine, Agent Coulson?" Greenwood said, coolly.

"Don't give me that, Alan. The number of strange diseases you've seen have you thinking too far outside the box half the time." Phil tried to sound calmer; but he couldn't help worrying as he gazed at Rogers. "Are you doing everything you can to treat this?"

"Of course."

"Let me be more specific. Are you administering the usual treatment for a fever?"

"Yes. It's my professional – and personal – opinion that this is simply the result of being defrosted, if you'll allow the word," Phil nodded, "and that he will be back to normal in no time."

"As normal as a super soldier is," Phil murmured. "Thank you, doctor. Do we need to set up a rota of people to watch over him? If the serum enhances this, it might take awhile to go away."

"That would be a load off my mind, to be honest, Phil."

"Okay. I'll set something up." He settled into a chair nearby. "I'll take first shift, unless you have someone on hand?"

"Feel free," Greenwood said. "The nurses' station is just outside. Call them if you need anything. They'll perform regular check-ups. You just need to watch him."

"Will do."

* * *

Another symptom of fever hit only half an hour later, when Rogers began to cry out.

"Mom! Mom! Where are you? Mom? Wake up!"

Phil held him down when it seemed like the captain would burst out of the bed and pull out the IVs which probably weren't helping anyway. A nurse walked in, serene, and checked his pulse.

"This isn't the first time," she said. "The first time he started yelling, we thought he'd woken up. But when he didn't respond to us, and we realised that he was presenting the rest of the symptoms…"

"I understand," Phil said. "Alan said it started yesterday."

"All the doctors thought it was an anomaly, and that it would just disappear overnight. When it didn't, we called Director Fury."

He nodded, swallowing anxiously as she checked the levels, then his temperature. She grimaced.

"He's hot, but I don't think he'll sweat it out anytime soon," she said. He was still whimpering, calling for his mother, Bucky, even Peggy. There were a few more mumbled names, but they were too soft to hear as Phil continued to hold him until he settled down. "Thanks."

"No problem," he said. "You'll be nearby?"

"Of course."

After the nurse left, Phil thought back to the fever he'd had when he was a kid. He didn't have the energy to read, and couldn't even concentrate when being read to. Television held no interest; plots meant having to try to concentrate.

But music. He liked listening to music. And he loved it when someone sang to him. His mom, dad, sister. Just having someone sing calmed him down. It meant that someone was there to watch over him, that someone cared about him even when he was feeling rotten and looked terrible. Not that Captain America could ever look awful.

But… he did look vulnerable, and that worried Phil.

"You're not alone," he said, holding the captain's hand. "You're not alone… Steve."

His calm, even voice seemed to soothe Rogers, who relaxed. Few people would've noticed, but Phil was trained to read body language as easily as he read English. As he stroked Rogers' hair and held his hand, and continued to speak softly, the shivers lessened.

"Bucky… Peggy… Mom…"

"I'm here," Phil said. He didn't know who he was supposed to be; but his words did the trick once again, and Rogers almost smiled. "Sleep, Steve. You need to get better."

The captain's forehead crinkled, and he began to shuffle again. Phil sat on the bed, leaning back on the pillow, and continued to stroke his hair and hold his hand. Rogers began to settle again. Phil thought fast. What songs did he know?

"If you knew Peggy Sue," he sang softly, "then you'd know why I feel blue about Peggy, my Peggy Sue. Well, I love you, gal, yes, I love you, Peggy Sue."

The song was usually upbeat, but this wasn't an upbeat situation. So he sang slowly, and watched as Rogers – well, he might as well call think of him as Steve by now – began to smile again. He went still after awhile, finally in a natural sleep. Phil hoped it was, anyway.

* * *

"I'm not running a goddamn babysitting service, Coulson," Fury said. "You don't need our best agents keeping a round-the-clock watch on Captain America. The medical staff is qualified in more than just medicine. You trained with Greenwood, and mentored three of the nurses in unarmed combat."

"Sir—"

"He's not in any danger."

Phil rocked on his heels, hands still clasped in front of him. "Very well, director. I'm requesting that I use part of my holiday leave, effective immediately."

"Oh, yeah? For how long?"

He pursed his lips. "Unknown."

"Do you have any plans for this… free time of yours?"

"I was thinking of sitting with a sick acquaintance of mine."

"You plan to keep watch over Captain Steve Rogers while he's sick, in a well-guarded, highly secure hospital?"

"I plan to use some of my holiday leave to keep an ill friend company."

"You've never even met him before, Coulson."

"We've met unofficially."

"Yeah, right."

"Sir, with all due respect, you can only refuse my request for leave, and you know HR won't like that. They've been trying to get me to go on vacation for years."

"And if I ban you from hospital?" Fury asked.

"As you said, sir, I trained with Alan Greenwood, and mentored three of the nurses. I also have level seven clearance for a reason, sir. And, if nothing else, I'll give myself concussion somehow. Regulations state that I would have to be admitted to a SHIELD-approved hospital. And the nearest one?"

Fury sighed. "Fine. Forget holiday leave."

"Sick leave."

"No sick leave. Congratulations, agent; you're on twenty-four hour watch. Just… try to get some sleep when you can. Let the hospital staff do their work." Phil nodded, and began to leave, thinking he was dismissed. "Agent?" He turned back. "You'll see that I'm right."

"I hope so, sir."

* * *

Of course, when has Phil Coulson ever been wrong?

He had chosen a dark corner of the room to sleep in. Somehow, someone had found out that Captain America had been recovered (and Phil would find out who had leaked it).

It was his second night on duty when they struck. Phil had sung to Steve several times a day, soothing him in his feverish state. He'd only been asleep five minutes when someone entered the room. He was immediately alert. A silent presence was suspicious, especially in a place as busy and noisy as a hospital. He watched as three people sneaked into the room and performed a quick reconnaissance, thinking themselves mere shadows.

The three would-be assailants never knew what hit them. Phil didn't want to know the extent of their weaponry; they didn't even get that far. He used his emergency pilot lamp to knock down the two on his side of the bed, and ducked as the one on the other side threw what looked like a knife at him. Phil threw the scalpel he had secreted under the mattress (just in case) at the assailant's leg, and smirked at the pained grunt. He was up and shoving the bed forwards in less than a second. It hit the injured man in the head, knocking him out for the count.

Still holding the railing, he kicked out to one side first, braining one dazed attacker, and then leapt out of the way as the other lunged. Phil leapt on the man's back, and then wrapped the cord for the nurse call button around his neck, pulling until the assailant lost consciousness.

He had propped the three attackers together and bound them with the twine he had brought by the time security got to the room. Again, just in case. He would be able to return the scalpel now, bloodied though it was. Somehow, he suspected that Nick Fury would be happy to provide more security.

Even so, Phil was going to stay.

* * *

An agent was always on guard during the night, trying to comfort Steve if he woke while Phil was asleep. More often than not, he'd be called on to help, usually singing until the captain was calm once again. Phil tried to vary his repertoire, singing hits from the thirties and forties, until one night.

"Like that," Steve whispered while Phil sang 'Peggy Sue'. He stopped.

"What do you like?" he asked.

"That one. That song. Sing it again?"

"…Okay."

Sometimes Phil read aloud to Steve, whether it was something from the newspaper, or a novel, or a manual. He even read aloud a report he was having to submit. His dry commentary occasionally had Steve chuckling, at least until he coughed and had to have some water. All the time, the captain's eyes remained closed.

Until.

"Go to sleep now, Steve," Phil said, patting Steve's forehead dry. "Someone will be watching."

"God is watching."

"…Yeah."

"And you're watching."

"I am."

Steve nodded. "You're my friend."

Phil's breath caught in his throat. "I am," he repeated.

Then, to his everlasting shock, Steve's eyes opened. Not far; just enough for Phil to be nearly bowled over by the bright blue irises he saw peeking out from behind light eyelashes. His eyes were only a little bit glassy, but enough to remind Phil that the captain still had a fever.

"Love you," Steve murmured. Then his eyes shut again, and he fell into another natural sleep.

"Love you, too," Phil said, squeezing his hand in reassurance. He received a small, sleepy smile in return.

* * *

There's no rest for the wicked; and despite Fury's original assurances that he could have sole sitting duty during the day, Phil was called back to deal with Iron Man, then with a supposed Norse god, all the while keeping track of Bruce Banner as things started to come together. He was relieved when Greenwood called to say that Steve— Captain Rogers was well again, and that the nurses kept combing his hair so that he'd be ready for Phil's return, awake or not.

When he heard about the botched attempt at rehabilitation when St— Captain Rogers finally awoke, he was furious. It was frustrating that he hadn't even been there to see the captain wake up, let alone help him adjust to the twenty-first century.

Now the Avengers Initiative was near fruition, and it was one thing after another. The Tesseract was stolen, Phil stumbled over his words when he met Captain America officially, and Thor joined the almost-team.

And then Loki was captured.

* * *

For a guy who'd been eager to meet him, Steve was baffled that Agent Coulson rarely spoke to him. In meetings, it was brief and business-like; outside of meetings, it was a greeting or a 'how are you'. He hadn't asked Steve to sign his cards; not the fake, bloodied ones, nor the real ones apparently kept in his locker this whole time. It didn't make sense.

The SHIELD doctors had checked him out after the battle, and were relieved that his injuries were very nearly healed. They mentioned something about a fever, and he told them he hadn't had a fever since he was a kid. Okay, that was stretching the truth; but he hadn't been sick at all since Erskine's serum, and he told them so.

"Even so, Captain Rogers, you were sick for a few weeks after we had completed the process of… thawing you, so to speak," Dr. Greenwood said. "We believe the fever lasted for so long because the serum enhanced it. Either that, or because you were frozen in the sea for almost seven decades. Despite the serum, such trauma would have affected your nervous system; the fever was probably your body's way of succumbing to it all at once and then fighting it off. We have no basis for comparison, so you understand why we're unsure about it."

"That's fine," Steve said, swinging his feet a little as he sat on the edge of the tall bed. "Was it bad?"

"We have security footage, if you want to see it. Clinically, it was a standard fever. But you did hallucinate, and… if you feel the need to see a therapist, we have an excellent one on staff."

"Thanks, doc. I think I'd like to see the films."

Dr. Greenwood laughed, and clapped him on the back. "Go see the girls and boys in security. They'll help you out."

Now Steve was watching, wide-eyed, as Agent Coulson fought off his attackers. He watched each time the agent had to comfort him when he thought he was seeing his mom, or one of his friends. With the audio on, he could hear the songs, and his sporadic responses.

He watched the first time he opened his eyes, saw Coulson's reactions on another screen, and his heart caught in his throat at the words 'love you'.

And neither of them had mentioned any of this; Steve, because he honestly didn't remember; Coulson, because he was probably embarrassed, or was waiting for Steve to say something.

Now was the time.

* * *

Phil was listening to the play-list he'd made up of the music he'd sung for Captain Rogers during his fever. It taunted him, and he was a damn masochist for ever creating it in the first place, never mind playing it every night religiously, using it to send himself to sleep. He was relaxing now, alarm set for a couple of hours' time and phone set to the loudest ring-tone in case of an emergency call. The paperwork was up-to-date, Thor was due for a visit, and Barton had gone to pick up Doctors Foster and Selvig and Miss Lewis. Romanov was on a lunch date with Pepper, Stark and Banner were probably trying to take over the world one creation at a time, Rogers was who-knows-where…

And Phil needed a break before he had to deal with any of them again.

He was only just snoozing when there was a knock at his door. He was tempted to ignore it; if there was an emergency, someone would call him, rather than waste time coming to his quarters. He waited, and the knocking started up again.

With a sigh, Phil sat up, swivelled around, and stood. He wasn't going to get any sleeping done until he'd dealt with this. Knowing his luck, Thor had arrived two hours early and come for a visit, rather than shorting out another phone.

"What is it?" he asked tiredly, pulling open his door. He blinked rapidly when he recognised his visitor. "Is there a problem, Captain Rogers?"

"Yes."

"And you couldn't have rung?" He shook his head, and Phil tried to remember why he had agreed to work for SHIELD. "Fine. Make it quick. I plan to get some shut-eye before our intergalactic friend returns."

"Oh. I can come back later."

"I'm awake now, captain."

"O… okay."

He let the captain walk past, then approached the miniscule kitchenette he was lucky to have in his quarters. "Want a coffee?"

"No. I'll just… I'll make this quick, like you said."

"Good." Phil couldn't handle coffee at the moment, and leaned against the counter. "What's the problem?"

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"About what?"

"That I had a fever? That you looked after me?"

Phil raised his eyebrows, caught off-guard. "I presumed you knew; that the doctors at least told you that you'd been sick."

"I didn't. They didn't. Not `til after Manhattan, and we found out you were alive."

"As for your second question, you'll recall that I did tell you."

"You mean, when you said that you watched me while I was… unconscious, from the ice?"

"Yes."

Steve's mouth formed an 'o', and he nodded slowly. "Okay. That makes sense now."

"I'm sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable, Captain Rogers. That wasn't my intention."

"No, no. It's okay now. I just… Is that music?" He cocked his head. "I recognise it. You… you sang that to me."

Phil flushed, and he looked down at his clasped hands as 'Peggy Sue' played in the background. "I did. I didn't know what else to do."

"It made me feel better."

He snorted. "You don't even remember what happened."

"I watched the videos." Phil tried to speak, but couldn't. St— Rogers had seen it all? "Thanks for protecting me, by the way."

"You're welcome," Phil said absently. He glanced up at the captain. "I'm sorry if I took any liberties. My first instinct was to look after you the way my family looked after me when I was sick. I'll understand if you wish to file a complaint."

"What?" His eyes widened. "No, of course not! Uh … do you remember what I said to you?"

"When?"

"You know when." Phil knew. "Do you remember what I said, and what you said in return?"

"Listen," Phil said, straightening slowly, "you were delirious; you thought I was someone you knew from the past. I was just reassuring you."

"I was asleep; you didn't have to say it."

"You heard me. You may not remember it, but you smiled, and there's video evidence of it."

"I would have been smiling anyway," Rogers said, pointing at him as he leaned against the counter this time. Since when had he gotten that close? "Because the person who made me feel safe was there. I can't remember much; but I remember feeling safe. No one had made me feel like that for a long time; that's probably why I stayed asleep, and why I kept crying out. I wanted that feeling to stay. Even… even now," he began to round the counter, "I'm feeling safer already. Just being here. It's like my body can tell that its greatest protection is nearby, and just… wants to be closer."

Phil started to back up. If Captain America was a real danger he wouldn't be any more worried than he already was; and he didn't like his chances of fighting off whatever was about to happen. Possibility one was that Rogers was about to kiss him; unlikely. Problem was, he couldn't think of any other realistic possibilities.

"Captain," he began.

"Call me Steve."

Possibility one it was.

Whoever had taught the captain to kiss deserved some kind of award. And if this just came naturally, it kind of boggled the mind what else might come naturally… so to speak. Phil was struggling for breath by the end, clutching the skin over his heart, where a long scar still lingered. If it wasn't for Greenwood's friend Stephen Strange coming in, Phil wouldn't have even survived. Steve – yes, Steve again – stroked Phil's hand until it relaxed, then leaned in and kissed him again.

Soon, the tired agent had melted against the kitchenette counter, the cool of the fridge tickling the backs of his legs. He chased Steve's lips for another kiss, hands slipping up to grip his shoulders for a few more minutes.

"I think I did mean the words," Steve whispered, nuzzling Phil's cheek. "And I didn't mean them like I'd spoken to any of the others. They were for you."

Phil mouthed the words 'Thank God', and burrowed further into the captain's embrace. "I think I meant them, too."

* * *

**Even if they didn't, they jolly well will in the future.**

**If I'm posting this on Friday morning, which I intend to, then it's my mum's birthday today. Unfortunately, she's working; but we're going out for lunch on Saturday, so huzzah!**

**I'm using a popular get-together trope in the next chapter. Care to guess what it is?**


	4. Pollen

"Pollen"

The room echoed with the sounds of coughing and hacking, and Iron Man's suit making whirring noises.

"JARVIS is analysing it," he said. The smoky gas dissipated by itself, leaving a thin film which soon dried. The Avengers and Phil brushed it off themselves easily, helping each other get the harder-to-reach places.

"What is it?" Steve asked hoarsely. There was a beeping sound, then Tony spoke.

"Okay, JARVIS said it hasn't gotten inside the suit."

"That's great, Tony, but it doesn't really help us."

"Hang on, hang on. Here it is. It's… wait, really?" Then he started to laugh. He stopped when Bruce growled, eyes beginning to go green. "Uh, it's an aphrodisiac."

"What?" Natasha said. "Stark, that isn't funny."

"It actually, really is. That's why I laughed."

"Stark!"

"JARVIS said that it's only mild, not much above the usual level of human hormones. It shouldn't have any effect; and if it does, it will take so long that we'll be out of here and in medical before anything can happen."

"According to JARVIS," Clint clarified.

"Yeah. Hey, are you insulting my AI?"

"Look, let's split up so we can get this done faster," Steve said. "And keep in contact over the comms. Clear?"

They nodded. Bruce and Thor went in one direction; Tony in another; Natasha and Clint in a third; and that left Phil and Steve to take a north-easterly direction in the gargantuan building. This was the last floor they needed to check. It was supposed to be a fairly simple operation; it was partly being used to ease Phil back into field work, and partly as a kind of group training exercise.

Unfortunately, it had turned a bit more complicated than that. Three words: Victor von Doom. They'd already called for information from the Fantastic Four, who'd taken it as an invitation to act as backup. Which meant they were on their way, the Avengers had no more information than before Tony had made the call, and they were trying to find their way out of some kind of former academic institute with—

The ability to make all the power in the building go off at once, effectively blinding them.

"Check the comms," Phil said automatically, pressing his earpiece. "Do you read?" Each Avenger checked back in, even Steve, who was now attached to him almost like a barnacle. "Captain, can you see anything?"

"I would if I ate more carrots."

"Iron Man, is the suit still working?"

"Everything's good here. I'll find my way back— oh, _hell_ no."

"What?" Phil asked, turning slightly. He just ended up bumping into Steve, who apologised quickly.

"The doors are kind of, you know, stuck," Clint said. Phil could hear banging and clattering.

"They appear to be reinforced," Bruce said. There was banging in the background there as well. "Thor, if you keep doing that, the electricity will just stay out longer!"

"Then I shall use my hands until I have defeated this new toy of von Doom!"

"You do that," Phil said. "Anyone else have any progress?"

"I really do need to eat more carrots," Steve said, touching Phil's waist. The agent sighed, and pushed his hand away.

"Cuttin' like a fiend with my laser's sting," Tony said rhythmically, the sound of scraping metal acting as an accompaniment. "Someone needs to write that song. Really."

"It sounds like it'd appeal to the emo market," Clint said.

"Shut up, Barton. Just because you can't write a tune to—"

Phil was suddenly aware of the captain pressing up against his back, hands now gripping his hips, and rocking against him. He swallowed, and tried to stay professional.

"Has a-anyone been hit b-by the effects of the gas y-yet?" he asked, stuttering each time Steve ground an obvious erection into his backside. He gasped soundlessly, wishing there was a nearby wall he could lean against.

"Nope," Tony said. "Didn't get into the suit, remember?"

"We're fine," Natasha said, though she was panting slightly as she rammed against the door. "Barton's trying to find an escape hatch."

"You're losing a battle with that door, Tasha."

"Never say die unless you're the enemy, Clint," she replied.

"We're good," Bruce said. "I'm having trouble bringing out the Big Guy, though."

"Is that a euphemism?" Tony asked, dropping his voice to a gruff bass.

"Shut up, Tony. Whatever this stuff is, it's seemed to… sedate him. And I don't think it's affected Thor at all."

"Good," Phil said. "It's just, uh… Steve!" He grabbed Steve's hand where it had suddenly grabbed his crotch, and tried to yank it away.

"Phil?" Natasha asked sharply. "Are you all right?"

"I'm… Captain! Remove your hand!"

"Don't want to," Steve murmured into his ear, grinding harder against Phil's backside. He gasped, and barely registered when the captain switched off both their comms. Phil fumbled, and pulled out his phone. Thankfully it was still working, and he used the light of it to look around the room, all the while formulating a plan.

"Captain," he said, and then he swallowed. "You're not in your right mind. We need to get out of here and find the others."

"Not others," Steve said, and he turned Phil around. "Only you. Always you."

He forced a kiss on Phil, who took the opportunity to raise his phone and examine Steve. When the captain's eyes snapped open, the enlarged pupils were prominent, and focussed entirely on Phil. Against his will, he was already half-hard, and nearly dropped his cell when Steve pushed him to the nearest wall. The phone slipped from Phil's grasp, landing face-up, and illuminating the scene as Phil finally succumbed to the intoxicating kisses. He wasn't sure whether it was the aphrodisiac, or just Steve Rogers in general, but he was finding it difficult to pull away. Slowly, his hands slipped up around the back of the captain's neck, and he curled one leg up.

Taking the hint, Steve held it around his waist, then hauled Phil up so that he was wrapped around Steve's torso, hip-to-hip, and pressed him up against the wall. They rocked gently, kisses full and deep, Phil running his fingers through Steve's hair and down his neck until he found the right spot, and pinched.

He landed on top of Steve's unconscious body, and grabbed his phone. He checked, and was relieved to see that the captain was out for the count. He tuned back in to the others, who were now frantic. Tony had apparently found Clint and Natasha and broken them out, and they were trying to free Bruce and Thor at that moment.

"He's down," Phil said. "I think there might be an escape through here."

"Agent, are you all right?"

"Yes, Stark. Now please free Thor and the doctor, and come find us. We'll need Thor to carry the captain. I'm going to examine the room."

Sure enough, he found something similar to a priest-hole, and dragged Steve closer to it. They were soon joined by the rest of the Avengers. Bruce gave him a quick check-over while Thor lifted Steve, and began to follow Clint down the tunnel. Natasha followed, then Phil, Bruce, and Tony at the back. Clint kicked open the door at the other end, and they found the Fantastic Four dealing a final blow to von Doom. The moment he hit the ground, the lights all went back on in the building, and Clint and Bruce both face-palmed. Phil resisted the strong urge to follow their example.

"Right," he said, taking charge again. Steve was beginning to stir. "We need to get checked out by medical. Has JARVIS developed an antidote?"

"He did that while I was freeing Tasha and Clint," Tony said. "Then he sent the information to SHIELD. They should be bringing a cure right about… now."

"Thanks, Stark," Barton said dryly. "I think the Quinjet landing on the lawn over there was a bit of a clue about when they were going to arrive."

"Barton, you can't see it, but I'm sticking out my tongue right now."

"That's not all you'll be sticking out if we don't get this sorted," Phil said, chivvying them all along, keeping an eye on Steve as he came around. The serum must have enhanced the effects; or his high rate of metabolism simply processed it faster.

He hoped it was be the same case with the antidote, or Thor would have to hold him down until it passed.

"Phi-il," Steve called in a sing-song voice.

It seemed like Thor would be holding him down.

* * *

The doctors checked them all each day for the next three days, until it was confirmed that the antidote had worked. Steve was kept in isolation, and Thor remained by his side every time someone entered the room. It was embarrassing, and Steve was nearly constantly a shade of red. It wasn't so bad after awhile; everyone in the medical team was kind and understanding, and Thor made jokes out of it to alleviate the tension.

It was whenever Steve thought of Agent Coulson that he felt the worst.

As soon as he was released from medical, he hurried to the nearest florist and ordered the biggest bunch of roses he could afford with the cash he had on him, following the sales girl's suggestions for yellow and burgundy blooms. It was pretty big nonetheless, and he included a card with it. It simply said 'I'm so, so sorry', and he addressed it to 'Phil'. That's what the agent kept insisting Steve call him.

Steve wondered whether he'd still be insisting on it after what happened the other day.

"Do you want them delivered?" the florist asked. Steve paused, then shook his head.

"I can take them," he said, and he scooped it into his arms. "Thanks."

"You're welcome. Have a nice day, sir."

"You, too."

He walked back to SHIELD. It wasn't far, and he didn't have the money for a cab or bus fare after he spent all but a dime of it on the flowers. He gave the dime to a girl busking on the sidewalk. He didn't know what she was singing, but she looked like she needed the money. He had more at home anyway.

Outside Agent Coulson's office, he stopped, and set the flowers down on the floor. He knocked, waited for the 'come in', then bolted down the corridors until he reached his room, where he sat for a long time. He remembered the feeling of the agent's smaller body pressed back against his own, then against the wall, then in Steve's arms as they kissed until he lost consciousness.

Everything was great up `til that moment. Great, and horrifying. If Phil hadn't rendered him unconscious, Steve would have… would have… r-raped him, he was sure of it. The sex gas or pollen or whatever it was hadn't affected Phil at that stage, not enough to imply that it would have been as consensual as it could have been under the circumstances.

Yet if he pretended to himself that Phil had really been into it, and that it hadn't stopped at kisses… and was happening in, say, Phil's office… or Steve's bedroom…

Steve unzipped his jeans without even thinking about it, tugging them down a bit, and the same with his underwear. He released himself, hissing at the not-so-gentle caress of the cold air on his aching erection. Re-imagining the actions in that room, re-imagining the context, he began to tug himself, gently, then harder, harder, until he was nearly there.

A knock at the door was enough to cool him off in two seconds flat. He stuffed himself back into his pants.

"Coming!" he called, grimacing at the word. Hr pulled his shirt into place as he ducked into the bathroom and washed his hands. "Just a sec!"

"Take all the time you need."

Steve dropped the soap. He knew immediately who his visitor was, and swore softly. He finished washing his hands and drying them off in record time, and halted at the door to his quarters. He had to speak to Phil; he owed the agent that much.

"Hi," he said, staring at Phil shamefully as soon as he opened the door. "I'm real sorry about what happened."

"I got the flowers. And the note."

"Yeah." Steve adjust his collar absent-mindedly. "Wanna come in?"

"How much do you know about the language of flowers?"

"Uh, nothing, actually. Not off the top of my head. Y-you don't like roses?"

"I don't have anything against them. I was just wondering about your choice."

Steve nodded slowly. Coulson was giving nothing away. "They were the first flowers I thought of. People usually give them to others when they're sorry about something. I couldn't really explain why I needed to apologise, but the lady at the shop picked some out for me."

Phil seemed to be trying to work out whether to speak or not. In the end, he shrugged.

"Sure, I'll come in," he said. Steve stood aside to let him enter, and realised how messy his bed must look. Then he remembered why it was messy, and blushed.

"I was, uh, lying down," he explained. "Do you want a coffee? Stark helped me figure out how the machine works. He says it's a simple coffee-maker." He shook his head. "I'd hate to try to work something he considers to be complicated."

Phil smiled blandly. "He is a genius."

"He takes after his father."

"Don't let him hear you say that."

Steve nodded, and looked at his feet. "The flowers are okay?"

"Yes. I don't know why you felt the need to apologise. What happened… It wasn't your fault."

"You didn't want it."

"I did kiss you back, Steve."

"Yeah, to distract me until… You called me Steve."

"It isn't the first time," Phil said, and damned if he wasn't blushing as well.

"Those were, uh, extenuating circumstances," Steve said.

"It was an automatic reaction."

"To someone touching you… there." He rubbed his eyes. "God, I'm so sorry, Phil."

"Sorry that it happened?"

"Of course! I'd never hurt you, but I nearly did. I probably did. Didn't you have to see a chiropractor?"

"I already see a chiropractor on a semi-regular basis," Phil said. He pulled Steve's hands away from his face, and Steve looked at him mournfully. Phil sighed. "You're inexperienced. If anything had happened, it would've been against your will. I'm aware of that; we all are. We were all showing signs of the effects of the aphrodisiac."

"Not all."

"No," Phil admitted. "Banner was just calmer than usual, Thor didn't notice any difference, and Stark wasn't touched. But Romanov, Barton, and I were affected. Infected, to be exact. It wasn't your fault, Steve."

"I still… I could've… if you hadn't knocked me out—"

"Then I would've found some other way to control the situation, even if it just meant drawing it out until the others rescued us, or talked you into waiting for a more opportune moment or place. I assure you, Captain Rogers, nothing would have happened that I didn't want."

"So… you wouldn't want it even now?" Steve asked. He was going out on a heck of a limb here, but he wanted to know where they stood. Phil tilted his head, bird-like.

"I didn't say that," he said.

"Then if I asked you out on a date, you wouldn't necessarily say no?"

"It depends on why you'd be asking," Phil said. His cheeks went a bit redder.

"Because," he inhaled and exhaled slowly, "I like you, and I want to go on a date with you. Is… is that enough? I mean, by today's standards?"

"Yes." Surely it wasn't possible to blush even more? But Phil was doing it. "It's perfectly acceptable."

"Good," Steve said, and he beamed. "Maybe this time we could do things in the right order?"

"Sounds fine to me."

* * *

**Sounds very fine to me. But we'll be moving on to a different `verse in the next chapter, so you'll have to let your imaginations take you where they will.**

**Please review and let me know how you're finding this. I know some people won't read stories until they're complete, but I won't know whether or not I'm doing something wrong unless I'm told so.**

**Yellow roses can mean friendship, apology, intense emotion, or a broken heart. Burgundy roses mean unconscious beauty. Just sayin'.**


	5. You Never Know

"You Never Know"

He would never tell Fury, but Phil Coulson was actually enjoying this forced leave. The director of SHIELD had told him that he needed to have a holiday before he went nuts and tried to take over the world. Apparently, it was Fury's opinion that Phil was perfectly capable of doing it.

"God forbid you ever snap, Coulson," he said. "We'll all be doomed."

So Phil was on holiday. With nothing else to do, he'd gone to the local bar and was indulging in some idle people-watching. It was an old-fashioned type of place, just the way he liked it. There was something about the Golden Age that appealed to his values, including the notion of relatively modern chivalry. There were some views – one in particular – which he didn't hold; homophobia would have been highly hypocritical, for example.

And this was brought home when probably the handsomest man he had ever seen ventured into the bar, almost having to duck to get through the door. His blond hair was swept to one side, and even at this distance Phil could tell that he had blue eyes. The only way this guy could've been hotter was if he'd been smiling. Instead, he looked serious, eyes taking in the atmosphere. They only flitted over Phil, who immediately tried to look intensely interested in his glass. There was no way…

After a few seconds, he raised his head and went to take a drink. That was when he noticed the stranger looking at him as he slid onto a barstool several seats away. Phil's hand shook slightly as he downed half of the remaining scotch, and settled the glass back on the cardboard coaster. He cleared his throat and checked his phone. Nothing from Fury; since Phil was on holiday, he wasn't getting any updates. Only the things he read online and saw on TV; he was pretty good at guessing which news items had SHIELD involvement.

He didn't make a move; there was bound to be someone else in the room interested in buying the blond a drink. He noticed the man order a beer, and watched as the whole thing was drunk in one long draught. The sight of that throat constricting around each swallow began to send his blood in the wrong direction, and he had to look away again.

After another glass of scotch – prolonging the torture simply so he could stay in the same room as Adonis personified for awhile longer – Phil stood, checked his wallet, and nodded at the barkeeper. He had to pass Adonis on the way out, and thought, for a second, that he'd misheard.

"Will you be here tomorrow night?"

Phil did a quick sweep of the surrounding area; he then realised that the man was looking straight at him, and gulped as they made eye contact.

"I can be," he said, and he cleared his throat again. "Probably around… nineteen hundred hours? I mean—"

"Seven o'clock?"

"Yeah," Phil said, nodding. Adonis smiled. That was the kind of smile that Phil swore could cure cancer. Cure depression, at least. And erectile dysfunction.

That thought made him blush.

"I'll probably be in then, too," Adonis said. "Hope you can make it."

Phil had no idea why this was happening, but he'd be an idiot to pass it up. "I'm Phil."

"Steve," the stranger said, shaking his hand.

"Steve," Phil said, smiling shyly. "See you later."

"Really hope so."

"If I don't make it, it'll be because wild horses are trying to drag me away."

Steve laughed. "Then I'll come to you rescue."

They finally let go of each other's hands, and Phil left.

He couldn't wait for tomorrow.

* * *

The next night, Phil showed up ten minutes early. Steve wasn't at the bar.

…Well, he was early, after all. Steve would probably show up—

He was already there, at a table in the corner. If Phil wasn't so practised at controlling himself, he would have done a visible double-take when he saw Steve in a different plaid shirt, but the same brown jacket, one leg sticking out from under the table. He watched as Steve glanced around, before his gaze settled on Phil. His face lit up, and he gestured to the seat on the other side of the table. Wondering how this was happening, Phil walked over to him and sat where indicated.

"Hi," he said, mentally kicking himself at his complete lack of loquacity.

"Hi," Steve said. "I wasn't sure whether you'd…"

"Whether I'd show up?" Phil said. Steve nodded. "As I said, wild horses."

Steve smiled to himself, tapping the tabletop. "I've ordered a scotch for you. Is that okay? I asked the barman last night what drink you take."

"It's great. Thanks."

"No problem. I've also ordered fries. I, uh, I get hungry a lot. High metabolism."

"They're pretty good here."

Steve nodded, and they waited in silence until the food and drink arrived. Phil was told to help himself, so he took a few of the crunchy strips of potato and munched on them one by one, while Steve shoved a small handful into his mouth, chewed and swallowed, and followed it with half of his beer. Phil sipped his scotch, mesmerised.

"Why me?" he asked. He flushed when it registered that he'd spoken aloud, judging by Steve's raised eyebrows.

"Why not?" Steve said. "You… you didn't have to say yes."

"I wanted to," Phil assured him.

"I kind of thought so. I've never bought anyone a drink before, and I'm not sure how it's done. I don't even know if that's still done."

"Still?"

"…It's been awhile since I've gone drinking, that's all. I lost my best friend – my only friend – a long time ago, and he was the only one I went out with."

Phil hummed thoughtfully, and had another sip, before taking a few more fries. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"I'm still not over it."

"If I had a best friend, I'd feel the same way. Of course, it depends on how they died. I know it shouldn't; but it really does."

"He fell. A long way. I never saw him again. And… it was all my fault."

"Did you push him?"

"What? No!" Steve looked horrified; Phil hurried to reassure him.

"Then it's not all your fault. Maybe partly; I don't know the whole story. But I can see why it would take awhile."

"I guess." Steve half-smiled. "No one else has really been able to make me see that. Thanks."

"You're welcome."

"And… and I could be your friend. If you want me to."

Phil smiled, all the while thinking that he wanted much more. "I'd like that."

* * *

It continued the next few nights. On the third night, Steve walked him home, despite Phil's protests that he could look after himself. But again, it was the old-fashioned chivalry that got to him. On the fourth night, Steve kissed him on the cheek. He was all apologies until Phil kissed him back. Then it was stammers, blushes, and a kiss on the lips the next night.

"I still don't understand why you'd pick me," Phil said. "You're young, and good-looking. What do I have to offer you?"

"Not that young. And I didn't always look like this."

"You could never not be handsome, no matter what you look like; it's your nature," Phil said, tucking back a runaway lock of hair, his touch lingering on Steve's earlobe. "Unless you've had major plastic surgery done, which I think I'd be able to tell."

"_Plastic _surgery? Uh, no. I've never had that."

Phil shook his head. "I didn't think so."

So it was that when Fury rang, asking whether Phil felt relaxed enough to return to work, hinting that something pretty damn amazing had happened a couple of weeks ago, Phil vetoed the idea.

"I've met someone pretty damn amazing," he said. "I don't know why he likes me, but I'm not saying no, and he doesn't seem to see any problem."

"You'll have to introduce me so I can approve of him."

"You're not my father," Phil said, giving the phone a withering look. Fury chortled. "I don't even know how long this'll last. But I'd like to continue seeing him, and I don't want work interfering before I can work out just how far we're both willing to take this."

"Sounds serious. Keep going, then. You've still got months of paid leave you haven't used yet. And don't even get me started on the sick leave you've built up."

"You never know when you might need extended sick leave, sir."

* * *

Yet so it was that after three weeks of meeting every night – apparently neither of them had anything better to do at the end of the day – Phil was considering taking things to the next level when Fury called.

"Sorry," he said to Steve.

"It's okay."

"Coulson here," Phil said when he answered.

"It's time for me to confess," Fury said.

"…Is this something you probably shouldn't tell me, in case I become implicated in whatever it is?" Steve snorted into his glass, quickly trying to cover it with an innocent expression. Phil arched an eyebrow.

"Hill told me you'd want to know, and I gotta say, I agree with her. But then you said you'd found the love of your life…"

"I didn't use those exact words, sir, but… they may apply." He looked at Steve, who gazed right back. Time slowed for a few moments. "Yeah. I think it's pretty safe to say those words apply. At least on my side." He turned his attention back to the call. "Sorry, sir. You were saying?"

"I was about to say that we found Captain America a few days after you went on vacation, and I think we'll need your help because he's gone AWOL. Again."

Phil couldn't speak for a few seconds. Then he managed to croak out, "I see, sir."

"We tried to ease him back into the world, and bought him an apartment in Brooklyn. He's been going out a lot lately, but we haven't put a tracer on him yet. I think this time we'll have to. I'll send you a snapshot. If you see him, get him back to base. And feel free to return to work whenever. Just remember the privacy policy. Only tell—"

He knew it for memory. Dazed, he ended the call while Fury was still talking, and then grinned at Steve, who beamed back.

"Good news?" he asked. "You had me worried there for a second."

"The best news," Phil said. "I work for… a branch of the government, but I've been on leave for about a month. A week or so before we met." Steve nodded. "My boss just called to tell me that a few weeks ago, Captain America was discovered. _The _Captain America." Steve didn't move. "I've just… I've been a big fan of his since I was a kid, that's all. And now my boss wants me to locate him if I can. Maybe even work with him! But," seeing that Steve was still frozen, "not during our date. Captain America can wait." He took Steve's hand in his. "This can't. I… I really care about you, Steve. And I was wondering whether you'd like to come back to my place tonight. And stay."

Steve opened his mouth, and Phil waited for words which never came out. The silence was broken by the sound of a message coming through on his phone, and he flipped it open without looking.

"Hold on a second," he said. "Just a picture, so I can identify him." He was still holding Steve's hand, and stroked the skin with his thumb. "Bet he can't compare to you."

"Phil," Steve said hoarsely. "I need to tell you something."

"Hmm?" Phil opened the picture, but he looked up at Steve before he'd taken more than a glance at the image taking up the whole screen. Then he frowned, taking in Steve's pale face, before his gaze slid back down to the phone.

"It's, uh… I'm Captain America," Steve mumbled. Phil stared at the picture, heart jumping to his throat. "My full name is Steve Rogers, I was born in nineteen-eighteen, and SHIELD thawed me from the ice a few days before I met you. I stayed in my apartment at first, but when I couldn't stand it any longer I came to this bar… and I saw you. I saw you here, looking cool and collected and held-together and… and everything I wasn't, and needed. Then I kissed you one night. That's when I acknowledged that somehow, you meant more to me than just a drinking buddy." Phil was light-headed, no longer really studying the picture; it was just in his line of vision, the face he'd come to know so well in less than a month.

"What did I mean?" he asked softly.

"To a man with nothing in this world except an apartment, a bit of furniture, and some clothes… you came to mean everything."

Phil looked at Steve then, trying to discern any honesty in his face. It was there alright, along with hesitancy, uncertainty, and something – for wont of a better word – examining. He felt naked, and not in a good way. Steve was his everything; knowing that the idol he had admired since he was a child had unknowingly evolved into a flesh-and-blood man Phil was genuinely interested in…

"I can't…" He stopped. "Steve, why… why didn't you tell me?"

"Well." Steve sat back, his expression gradually closing off. "For that matter, why didn't you tell me you work for SHIELD?"

"B-because of our strict privacy policies, and—"

"Doesn't it occur to you that I'm subject to the same policies?"

It was getting more difficult to breathe. Phil could almost feel his phone cracking in his hand, and shoved it into his pocket, dislodging probably half a dozen other things. He paused, then stood up. He needed air.

"I have to go," he said.

"Wait. Phil!"

He pulled away from Steve's hand and brushed past tables and patrons to get out. He felt bad that Steve would have to cover their bill; but they hadn't been there long enough to have more than a couple of drinks each.

High metabolism. All alone. A friend lost a long time ago. His behaviour.

_Steve_.

He leaned back against the brick wall outside, gulping in as much air as he could without hyperventilating. He didn't feel any better. Steve's voice was getting closer, still calling his name. Phil took off, slinking into the shadows like the well-trained SHIELD agent he was.

It was time to go back to work.

* * *

Steve waited outside Phil's apartment for several minutes after he knocked, and then rang. Nothing. He couldn't bring himself to break down the door, so he waited another half hour. He'd never needed to get Phil's mobile phone number, and if he wasn't at home, then Steve had no way of contacting him.

Then he remembered that he possibly had a way into Phil's apartment, and pulled out a key-ring with a single key. It must have fallen out of Phil's pocket at some point, because Steve had found it on the bench. He tried it in the keyhole, and sighed with relief when he heard and felt the lock turn over. A twist of the doorknob, and he was in.

There was no sign of Phil. So he hadn't returned to collect anything, unless he was very good at removing any traces of his presence. Knowing SHIELD agents, that was entirely possible. But there was no way he could have come and gone before Steve arrived and been able to leave the apartment looking so immaculate. His shoulders sagged as he slumped against the frame of the door into Phil's bedroom. He recalled their conversation, what Phil had been saying before everything went to… went to hell.

'I really care about you… I was wondering whether you'd like to come back to my place tonight. And stay.'

He looked down at the key he'd left on the side table, and actually studied the key-ring this time. It had an 'S' engraved on it. S for Steve?

Was Phil going to give him a key to his apartment?

Steve inhaled unsteadily. If Phil wasn't here, he had to be at work. He had to be working for SHIELD. Pulling out his phone, Steve found Director Fury's direct number and gently pressed the green call button.

"Fury."

"Good evening, director," Steve said, scuffing the carpet with the tip of his shoe.

"Is that you, Captain Rogers?"

"Yes, sir."

"Where are you?"

"…Phil's apartment."

"Phil? Which Phil?"

"Phil Coulson."

"Coulson?" Fury sounded mildly perplexed. "What're you doing there? Coulson's with me."

"I, uh… I have a key to his place."

"A key? Hang on… What?" His voice became muffled, but Steve's enhanced hearing picked up the conversation. "Your boyfriend is Steve Rogers?"

"He's not my boyfriend," came Phil's voice. Steve's heart ached at the words.

"He's got a key to your apartment. How d'you think he came across that?"

There was a pause. "I must have dropped it."

"Coulson?"

"…He _is_ the… we've been seeing each…"

"Yes, agent?"

"Where are you?" Steve asked loudly. Fury swore. "Director? I want to see Phil. Where are you, right now?"

"Just a sec— Go ahead, Selvig. We're at—"

There was some kind of crackling sound, and then the call was disconnected. Steve frowned as he inspected his phone. That wasn't the problem. It must have been at the director's end. Well, that was just great. He'd have to make his way to the only SHIELD base he knew, or maybe that hospital. Someone would find him.

* * *

The next time Steve saw Phil was from a distance on the bridge of the Helicarrier. He tried to call out, but Phil started talking with Agent Sitwell, and someone intercepted Steve before he could take more than a few steps.

The time after that was when Phil passed the windows of the lab, barely looking at Steve, focussing instead on the others in the room. Steve managed to tear himself away from his verbal sparring with Stark, and felt better as soon as he left the room. Without giving it any thought, he tried to find Phil.

Less than twenty minutes later Banner had to be restrained and sedated when the Helicarrier was attacked. Steve helped fend off the attackers and assisted Agent Romanov capture Barton. That was when someone reported that the sceptre had gone missing, and Steve felt the horrible sensation of ice in his veins. He raced through the Helicarrier to where he knew Loki was being held after they captured him.

He got there in time to see Phil being impaled and the glass case falling out of the sky with Thor inside. The large gun blasted Loki through the wall, but Steve paid no attention to the villain as he ran to Phil's side.

"No, no, no," he whispered, ripping open the shirt at the tear where blood was seeping through the fabric. The skin was mangled around the otherwise clean cut. Phil hissed as Steve touched it.

"It's okay, captain," he said. Steve had at least thought to summon medical assistance as soon as he saw Phil hit the ground. Now they just had to wait.

"Help will be here soon," he said. "I promise."

"I know. Just too late."

"No, Phil. No! You can't do this."

Phil looked at him, eyes taking in every one of his features. "Sorry. Swear I didn't know… who you were."

"Don't talk. Save your energy."

"Last chance."

"It isn't," Steve insisted. Phil's eyelids were already beginning to flutter. "Stay with me."

"Was gonna give you a key."

"I've got it. I'll keep it, and I'll move in with you, if you still want me to."

Phil blinked sleepily. "Love you, Steve. Shouldn't have happened, but it did."

"I know, and I'm happy. I am. But I won't be if you die, so please hang on."

"Need… something to… avenge…"

"I don't," Steve said. "Really, Phil. I'll fight. You don't n-need to die for that to happen. I'll get the others together, tell them you're injured."

Phil smiled, and his eyes closed in earnest this time. Steve looked up frantically, finally hearing the medical team arriving. At least he hoped it was the medical team. Why couldn't Steve have been the one to be skewered by Loki? He healed so quickly…

Without letting go of Phil's lax body, Steve grabbed some twisted metal debris. He wiped the dust from it on his trouser leg, then yanked off his right glove with his teeth. With a swift, painless swipe, he cut a deep gash in his palm and placed it against Phil's injury.

"Please. Oh, please," he panted. "God, please. Please let this work. Please, God. Heal him. He's innocent. Just… I love him. Please, God."

* * *

There wasn't even a scar on Steve's hand. His other battle wounds were nearly healed, including the bullet wound in his stomach. He'd pried out the ammo before the skin could knit together and seal it in. He was so worried he couldn't eat anything; he'd just throw it all up again, and he wasn't sure whether or not the toilets were working in the restaurant.

When he received the call on his mobile, he nearly jumped, and fished it out of his pocket.

"Rogers," he said.

"No, he doesn't," Tony quipped. Steve had no idea what he was talking about, and was glad the director was able to distract him with good news.

"Thank God," he murmured. "Where is he? Uh-huh? Thanks. I'll be there right away."

"Where're you going, Cap?" Clint asked between bites of shawarma.

"The hospital, to see Phil."

"Coulson? He's still alive?" Natasha said. Steve nodded. "I'm coming with you."

"We all are," Tony said, standing. "You up for it, Brucey?"

"I think so," Bruce said, getting to his feet with a lot less energy. "Just as long as I can sit down there."

It was two days before Phil woke up in a lucid state. Steve was there, holding his hand, and he was on his feet in less time than it took to blink.

"I'll get someone," he said.

"Nah, let me," Tony said, waving him back into his seat. "You have your little reunion with Agent. I'll call Pep while I'm out there; she probably won't forgive you for nearly dying," he added, looking pointedly at Phil. Steve glared at Tony.

"Leave him alone," he said, squeezing Phil's hand. "That's my boyfriend you're talking to."

"How new age," Tony muttered, leaving the room. "Captain America's in a relationship with another guy. If my old man could hear him now…"

He at least had the courtesy to close the door, and Steve turned back to Phil, sitting on the edge of the bed this time.

"Hey," he said. "I hope you don't mind me calling you my boyfriend. It's just that I want it to be real. I figure that since we love each other, we need some kind of titles. 'Boyfriends' is as good as any other. Well, there are better ones; but it'll do for now, right?" Phil nodded tiredly. "Why did you run away from me?"

"How did I survive? Being stabbed through the chest by a Norse god seems pretty final."

"You know I don't believe they're gods, no matter what Thor can do with the weather. And don't deflect. Why did you leave me in the bar? Was it because I didn't tell you who I was? I was going to, I swear. If Director Fury hadn't interrupted – if you'd gone ahead and asked me to live with you – I would've told you then."

Phil sighed. "I thought you'd think that I knew all along. I can assure you… if I knew, I would've fallen over my own two feet to ask you to… sign my trading cards." He coughed, and Steve realised that some water would probably be good. He poured a cupful, and allowed Phil to take some tiny sips.

"You have trading cards? I didn't know they'd made any."

He nodded. "Mint condition, practically. But I can't ask you now."

"You don't need to," Steve said, and he leaned a little closer. "I'll sign them anyway."

"But… if you're my boyfriend…"

"No 'if'. I am."

Phil smiled. "Okay. So." He grimaced as he shuffled in place, and Steve helped him sit up. "How did I survive?"

"I'm not sure," Steve said, looking away.

"…Are you lying to me?"

"Look, I don't have any kind of degree, let alone a medical one. I could write a paper on all my health problems pre-serum, but that's it."

"Steve?"

He shrugged, giving in. "I may've slit my hand open and pressed it against the gaping wound on your chest." He saw Phil's jaw drop in his peripheral vision. "And I prayed. I prayed for the longest time, until we had to go stop Loki and some robotic aliens from tearing New York apart. Even then, I kept thinking about you. Any moment I had breathing time, I remembered seeing you bleeding out, lying in my arms. I don't know whether it was the serum in my blood, or the prayers, or medical science; but a miracle of some kind saved you for me."

Phil raised his hand, then rested it on Steve's bicep. "Kiss me?"

Steve's spirit soared, to use a cliché, and he bent over to kiss Phil. It was just getting interesting when the door opened, and Tony walked in with some of the medical staff. Steve huffed in frustration, ignoring Phil's weak chuckle, and kept holding onto his hand as he plonked back into the chair, glaring whenever someone tried to get between them.

"Let them do their job, Cap," Tony said, no help at all as he tapped away on his computer thingy. "We could totally bring Agent Phil back to Stark Tower and get him treated there. You're both moving in, right? I'm designing a floor for the two of you as we speak."

"As _you_ speak," Phil said softly. Steve clapped a hand over his smile, but he noticed Phil's smirk. Tony flipped them off without even looking up, quickly returning to his work.

"Thanks, but I already have a place," Steve said. "I've got the key right here." He fished it out of his shirt pocket, the shining silver key-ring with an engraved 'S' glinting in the harsh hospital lighting. He saw Phil's eyes following its movements. "If it's all the same to you, I'll stay there for as long as I'm wanted."

"We don't have to," Phil said as Steve put the key back in his pocket. "If it's better to move into Stark's place…" Steve frowned slightly, and Phil squeezed his hand. "That's something we can discuss together, as a couple."

Steve brightened at that, beaming as he scooted his chair closer to the bed. Phil's hand moved to stroke Steve's hair.

"I love you," Steve whispered. Phil's hand paused, then resumed its hypnotic caresses.

"I love you, too," he said.

* * *

**Daw!**

**I've noticed that as I've been writing this, each chapter has held some kind of link to other ones, no matter how minor. I'm going to try to pretend that that was my intention all along, and just smile and nod. *Smiles and nods***

**The last chapter will probably take longer, depending on when I write it. If nothing else, I may not be able to post it as early. It depends on how much time I have in the morning before college. I might have to wait until I get home in the afternoon, since I can't access either of my fan fiction sites on the internet at college. Sigh.**

**So. Final chapter sometime tomorrow, I hope. Ciao!**


	6. How It Actually Happened

"How It Actually Happened"

As soon as Fury told the Avengers that Phil Coulson was, in fact, still alive, Tony ordered a plane to take them to the hospital.

Steve's hands were shaking, and he broke the glass he'd been holding, barely noticing the shards hit the ground and scatter like ants. They were all in battle gear, having been summoned to SHIELD for an emergency meeting. The wasted no time in leaving for the medical centre.

Sitting, still trembling, Steve held onto the seat. It was when Clint coughed and pointed that he realised he was twisting the metal.

"Come, give me your hand, Steven," Thor said from beside him. "You will not break that."

"Thanks," Steve said, somewhat embarrassed. Honestly. The only person who knew Phil any less than him was Bruce, who had never actually met the agent. It was crazy.

But he held Thor's hand anyway.

The longest conversation he'd held with Phil was in a little plane like this one. He could remember feeling nervous about joining this team of 'exceptional people', wondering whether he'd even have a place outside of fighting. Then, despite their general, work-related conversation up `til then, it all turned when Phil said that he'd watched Steve. His enthusiasm, his friendliness and admiration, made Steve blush and look away.

"Are you all right, captain?" Natasha asked. He looked up, pulled abruptly from his thoughts, and suddenly noticed the tears on his cheeks. He wiped them away, even more embarrassed about his behaviour.

"Fine," he said, and he smiled. "Agent Coulson is alive."

"I know," she said.

"…Well, I'm happy about it."

She inclined her head, and he felt like he was being examined. It was always the same, when people saw him. Except when Phil…

It was stupid to feel this way. He barely knew the man. It was illegal, even considered against God's law, in Steve's day. But when he saw those blood-stained cards, and believed he'd lost the first person who'd made him feel genuinely welcome and needed in the twenty-first century, he'd had trouble concentrating on anything else. He'd failed his fan and protector.

Now that he knew it had been a lie – that he had another chance – there was no way he wasn't going to take it.

* * *

It was amazing to see Phil already awake and sitting up, arguing with a nurse. He looked tired, but a lot better than they thought he would after only three days.

"I told you, it looked worse than it really was," he said. "I bleed easily sometimes, and the blade missed pretty much everything vital. It's just painful. Ah." He had noticed the Avengers, and nodded at them. "Be with you in a minute."

"Sir, how the hell do you get into these situations?" Clint said, going straight to his side, Natasha beside him. "Shouldn't you be dead?"

"Nice to see you, too, Barton. Loki was defeated?"

"Aye," Thor said, almost running to Phil's side. "My brother is bound and imprisoned, and will be punished for his heinous crimes." He pulled Phil into what must have been a painful hug. "It is heartening to see you so well, Son of Coul."

"Thank you, Thor. But I'm still healing, so could you please let go?"

"Of course," Thor said, immediately pulling back. He held Phil's shoulders for a moment, nodded, then backed up to the wall.

"Now, tell me all that happened," Phil said, settling back against his pillows.

"A debrief? Now? Really?" Tony said. "By the way, Pepper's on her way here, and she's going to be mad with you. Just a head's up."

"In my defence, I was only providing a distraction. Loki is unpredictable. I'll admit that I should have seen the duplication trick coming." He looked thoughtful. "I'll know for next time."

"No," Steve said. When the others looked at him, he became aware of the fact that he'd spoken out loud. "No more risks like that, Agent Coulson. We're not losing you again."

"You didn't lose me in the first place, captain," Phil said gently. Steve heard what he meant: 'You never had me to lose me in the first place'.

Hesitantly, he walked towards the bed and sat down on the edge. He kept his eyes on Phil's face, waiting for an objection as Steve picked up his hand. When no sign of discomfort made itself clear, he curled his fingers around Phil's, letting their hands rest on the sheets. There was a bit more pink in the agent's cheeks; but nothing else altered.

"I'm glad you're okay," Steve said. "It's been horrible."

"I'm sorry."

"You should be," Bruce said. "Everyone says you're an amazing guy; I'd hate to miss the opportunity to work with you."

"Likewise, Dr. Banner."

Bruce seemed to perk up at that; but Steve returned his attention to Phil, watching him even as they all talked, bringing him up-to-date on the clean-up in Manhattan, what the press was saying about the Avengers, and how they were trying to get along with each other.

Steve had been determined to ask Phil out to coffee. Now that they were all together, and seeing Phil surrounded by tubes and weak in spite of his attitude… the words wouldn't come. So he just watched, trying to work out what to do next, and absently agreeing with whatever the others said when they asked his opinion. Sometimes, Phil looked at one of the others, nodding as they expanded on some point or other.

Most of the time, however, he was staring right back at Steve. It was easy to pretend they were the only two in the room at those moments. The others were just background noise, matched only by the buzzing in his ears. For a good two or three hours they all talked, about the battle, about each other's bravery and heroics, about the rebuilding on the Helicarrier. Anything and everything was up for discussion. They were all sitting down when it became apparent that they weren't leaving anytime soon.

"You can have more water to drink now," a nurse said, placing a jug and a cup on the table by the bed. "Not too much now."

"I'll help him," Steve said, already reaching for the jug.

"Okay," the nurse replied, and he left. Steve shuffled closer, and used his left hand to tilt Phil's head up and his right hand to regulate the sips.

Every so often they repeated the process, his hands remaining longer each time. It caused a significant break in the conversation every time it happened, which should have made Steve feel more awkward. But he was too busy reeling from being so close to Phil. Then he would go back to clutching the agent's hand like the lifeline it was.

"You know, I'm starting to think you two should just get a room," Tony said. Pepper was there by then, and she hit him up the back of his head. Steve scowled at him.

"How dare you say things like that, Stark?" he said sharply. "Apologise to Phil." Tony mumbled something which sounded like an apology. He repeated it a bit louder after Pepper elbowed him. "That's better. I'd never… I'd _never_ use Phil like that. He's a good man, and he deserves more than just one night. Not that I'm a one night kind of guy." Now he was babbling. "But that's what you're implying, isn't it?"

"Uh…"

"Never mind," he said, turning his back on Tony and just concentrating on Phil, who looked confused. "I wouldn't want something that's just casual."

"Okay," Phil said softly, squeezing his hand. "Good to know."

"Mmm." Steve nodded, then stood up. "I'll be back. I'm just going… you know, bathroom."

He left the room quickly, then went to the nearest restroom. Once in there, and sure he was alone, he pulled out his cell phone and called the director.

"Sir?" he said. "Would it be a threat to Phil's career if he went out with me?"

"Are you thinking of asking out one of my best agents, Captain Rogers?"

"Only if it won't impact his career negatively."

"We don't discriminate at SHIELD, captain."

"Good. It's just that I've noticed that people can be in… I think they're called same-sex relationships, but I wasn't sure…" He glanced at the doorway, not really seeing it. "Thanks. I'd better go now."

"Take care of him, captain."

"I will, sir."

* * *

The rest of the team left eventually, but Steve insisted on staying. He wanted to approach the subject of maybe going on a date, if Phil was interested.

"I was wondering—"

"Son?"

Steve's eyes widened, and he leapt to his feet, dropping Phil's hand and standing to attention. A tallish, grey-haired man stood at the door, holding flowers and a card and looking stunned.

"Sir," Steve said weakly.

"Hey, Dad," Phil said. Steve swallowed.

"Would you, uh, like to sit down, Mr. Coulson?" he asked, pulling one of the chairs closer to the bed. Mr. Coulson nodded slowly, and weaved his way around the other seats the team and Pepper had left behind. He sat down, looking between Steve and Phil.

"What's going on?" he said.

"I don't know," Phil said. He was bright red, and he sat up straighter. "Mom couldn't make it?"

"She tried to sneak out of the house, but a plastered foot isn't exactly quiet, and the nurse caught her before I got home from work."

Phil chuckled. "Sounds like Mom." Then he met Steve's gaze again, and the laughter died away, though the smile stayed.

"I'm glad you've never told us what you do for a living," Mr. Coulson said, shaking his head. "You survived a stabbing again?"

"They breed us tough in our family," Phil told Steve. "Yeah. He missed anything important."

"Who is 'he'?"

"The guy who led the attack on New York."

"The one with the horns?"

"That's him."

"Loki," Steve said, making his disgust plain. Mr. Coulson looked up at him again.

"You didn't say who you are," he remarked.

"Captain Steven Rogers," he said, shoulders back as he held himself like the soldier he was. "Also known as Captain America, both in the nineteen-forties and now. I was frozen for almost seven decades—"

"Long story," Phil added.

"—and I would like to ask if I may court your son."

Both Coulson men stared at him, then at each other. Mr. Coulson's expression was almost comical; his mouth had dropped open, his eyebrows were nearly touching his hairline, and his eyes were wider than dinner plates.

"Y-yes, of course," he stuttered out. Steve's shoulders dipped as he exhaled in relief.

"Thank you, sir," he said, and he met Phil's eyes again. "Would you like to go out," say coffee, he thought, "for fondue?" What? No! Idiot, idiot… "I, uh, I've heard it's something people do on dates? I don't know what it is…"

"It's food," Phil said.

"Oh. Uh, where do you get it?"

* * *

Mr. Coulson had left them to hash out the details after his visit, where he sat and filled his son in on everything that was happening. Mrs. Coulson had been playing tennis when she tripped over a ball which landed by her feet at the wrong moment. She broke her lower leg, which had left her in a knee-length cast. Steve ended up promising to sign it when they met, even if she was no longer wearing it by then. It seemed like the Coulson family was made up of faster healers on both sides. Phil was lucky.

Now they were at a restaurant eating cheese fondue. The forks were so tiny that Steve handled them more gingerly than necessary, and kept losing his pieces of bread. He blushed furiously, especially one time when Phil rescued a piece first, and fed it to Steve. They'd asked the waiter for advice on which wine would go best with the meal, and were having such a good time that Steve couldn't stop himself from asking for a dance.

"Oh," he said. "Unless we're not allowed to?"

Phil gave him an 'Are you kidding me?' face, and stood up, hand outstretched. Steve took it, smiling ear-to-ear, and let Phil lead him to the dance-floor. They ended up shuffling around just like everyone else, and Steve grew in confidence.

"I keep thinking I'm going to wake up," Phil said, resting his head against Steve's chest. "Find this is all a dream, that you're not really here. That I'm still alone."

"I won't ever let you be alone."

Phil smiled, then leaned up and kissed Steve's chin. It was barely a brush of his lips, but Steve's heart leapt.

"I'm falling in love with you, Phillip," he blurted out. He then froze in horror; surely nobody said things like that these days? It was all about… about sex, from what he'd seen on television, and his cheeks felt hot enough to fry an egg on them. But Phil didn't seem to mind.

"I love you, too, Steve Rogers," he said, gazing into Steve's eyes.

It was for him. Not Captain America. Someone wanted Steve Rogers, the little kid from Brooklyn, not the military science experiment with a corny stage name.

"Hey," Phil said, flexing his fingers in Steve's tight grasp. Steve relaxed his hand.

"Sorry," he said, and he rested his head on Phil's, breathing in deeply. "Just nervous."

"About what?"

"About messing this up."

Phil shook his head slightly. "Not possible. You just have to hold me, and I'll be okay."

This was pretty much the best feeling in the world.

Steve saw Phil to his apartment, and tried not to tower over him as they stood on the steps while Phil unlocked his door. He reached out and cupped Phil's cheek, stroking the skin there with his thumb.

"Sweet dreams… my darling," he said, trying out the words. They fit just right. Phil ducked his head.

"If I can even sleep tonight," he said, but he was smiling as he raised his head. "Good night, Steven."

He was just closing the door when Steve felt something in his jacket pocket, and he held the door open.

"Wait," he said, and he pulled out the gift. "I almost forgot. This is for you."

Phil tilted his head, and then brightened. "This is one of my cards. You signed it for me."

"I signed all of them," Steve said. "I asked Mr. Fury if I could keep them; this was before we were told you were alive."

"You've… you've got the rest of them?"

"Yeah." Steve smiled, slyly this time. "You'll get another one each time we go on a date."

"Oh, really?" Phil asked, leaning against the doorframe, crossing his arms and smirking. "Isn't that corruption?"

"If you don't want to, I could—"

"No, no. It sounds fair to me."

Then – and Steve would never forget this for as long as he lived – Phil leaned forward and kissed him on the tip of his nose. His lips were warm and soft, and Steve missed the feeling as soon as the kiss was over. He must have looked pretty lovesick, because he sure as heck was floating as he made his way to the subway.

He definitely never slept that night.

* * *

Phil couldn't sleep, either. He still wasn't sure, despite their declarations, how things were going to go. When Steve basically tried to bribe him into more dates, he finally knew where things stood. He wasn't going to rush Steve; a kiss on the nose seemed pretty safe.

One thing was for sure. They were good together. They shouldn't have been; on the outside, they looked to be too different. But the conversation had rarely stopped, only pausing for food or drink, and then for some comfortably silent dancing.

Not that all the dancing was in silence. If this really was all a dream, at least he'd told phantom-Steve how he felt.

It wasn't until they met the next day at SHIELD, and Steve spoke to him about the date, that Phil accepted the fact that he really was dating Steve Rogers. Every time he passed a window or some other shiny surface, he saw his goofy grin out of the corner of his eye, and he finally knew what it felt like to walk on air.

* * *

Some months later, after Steve had given him the last of his trading cards, and after they'd kissed on the lips for several dates, they moved into a new apartment together, just for the two of them.

"And any pets or guests we acquire in the future," Phil said, prompting a beaming smile from Steve.

With the Avengers gaining more publicity, Fury insisted they all try to connect with the online community. Now Phil was fiddling with a laptop and a webcam, squinting at the small writing on the screen. He was aware of Steve's eyes on his back (or lower; he'd 'corrupted' Steve a week after they moved in together, and several times since then). Once it all seemed to be set up properly, he switched on the webcam to test it out for the first post to their blog. With any luck, this would work.

"Uh, is this thing on? Is it…" Steve frowned at the laptop, and poked the webcam clipped to the top right corner.

"It's okay, love; it's on."

"Sorry." Steve half-smiled, and settled back beside Phil. "I… I don't know if it's a good idea."

"Don't worry," Phil said, clasping his hand. "You'll get used to it soon. For once, I totally agree with Mr. Fury." He shrugged. "I am sure that some kind of hobby will be a good thing, to get rid of your shyness; and soon you'll be a real twenty-first century boy." Steve rolled his eyes, and Phil elbowed him. "You need to get to know your fans, captain."

"…If you say so. You know I trust you."

Phil's heart skipped a beat every time Steve said something like that. Unfortunately, that meant his heart skipped a beat an awful lot. He kissed his boyfriend on the cheek. "I _promise_, if you don't like it we'll stop. Besides, I don't have much free time after work, and I'd rather spend it with you; so it won't be a burden for you, okay?"

"Well, yes." Steve blushed, and Phil wondered whether he was thinking about the other ways they spent their free time in private. "Let's wait for questions now. If people happen to be interested. If there actually are people on this… internet."

His strange way of referring to things like the internet was endearing, and Phil was close to melting. He snuggled into Steve's side, almost purring when Steve slung an arm over his shoulders.

"Don't worry," he said, looking straight into the camera. "I'm afraid they _will_ be interested," he raised an eyebrow, "probably more than expected."

Steve chuckled, and kissed the back of Phil's neck.

* * *

**Uh, I might or might not have altered some of the dialogue from AskCapsicoul's blog entries slightly. I tried to stay true to them, but I think I might have got the trading cards timeline wrong. B-but I did my best! Honest!**

**I mean 'honestly'.**

**Meh.**

**I love the song 'Skyfall', and I keep listening to it. Just an interesting, and smegging useless, fact.**

**So what did you all think of the story?**


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